Relative Pleasures
Copyright© 2026 by Obscene Vices
Chapter 2: Daddy’s Little Girl
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2: Daddy’s Little Girl - In the Davidsons' perfect suburban life, Jenny and her sister Mandy have been secret lovers since teens, sharing boyfriends and now their husbands. One night, with the kids supposedly out, the adults start an orgy in the living room. John and Emma return early from a busted party, witness the incestuous scene, and sneak upstairs. Shocked but aroused, they confess desires and have sex, fantasizing about joining the family depravity. No one is safe from the family taboo.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter Cousins Uncle Niece Aunt Nephew InLaws Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Anal Sex Analingus Double Penetration First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Voyeurism
Emma Davidson bailed on her high school senior classes before lunch, muttering something about cramps to her history teacher, who just nodded, barely listening. Her stomach was fine—her body, though, was a fucking furnace, lit up from last night’s messed-up scene: her parents, Mark and Jenny, enjoying themselves in a filthy swap with Aunt Mandy and Uncle Bob. Mom’s lips wrapped around Uncle Bob’s cock, Mandy’s face buried in Jenny’s pussy, Dad pounding Mandy like it was his last day on earth—it had kept her up half the night, fingers working her clit while she whispered filthy plans with her brother, John. Today was go time. Dad was home, working. Mom was at her office. John was stuck at uni. Perfect.
With her heart hammering, Emma walked to her car—a new EV her family had recently leased—in the school parking lot and slipped into it. She sat in the car for some time, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself down. She looked outside to double-check if there was anyone around, then, on impulse, reached under her sheer pink crop top and quickly unhooked her bra and tossed it into the backseat. She adjusted her rearview mirror to see her reflection and smiled, despite her nervousness—damn, she looked hot. Her nipples were hardening against the thin fabric, poking through, as she jiggled her boobs. Her denim shorts were obscenely short, barely covering her ass, the frayed edges tickling her thighs. But as she drove, her stomach twisted—not from cramps, but nerves. This could go so wrong—blow up the family, ruin everything. What if Dad freaked? What if Mom found out? She was too horny, too deep in, to back out now. The thought of his eyes on her, his hands ... damn, she was soaked already.
As expected, the house was quiet except for Mark’s keyboard and mouse clacking from his office. Emma kicked off her sneakers and socks and slunk to the doorway of Mark’s office. Mark was seated at his desk, his head moving between his laptop and his monitor. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing off those forearms—strong, hairy, the kind she used to think were just “dad arms” but now made her mouth dry. He looked so normal, so fucking dad-like. Except she knew better.
“Hey, Daddy,” she said, voice soft and a little shaky, leaning against the doorframe, hip popped so her top rode up, flashing her stomach.
Mark’s head jerked up, eyes zooming on her—those shorts, those nipples—before yanking his gaze back to his screen. But she’d already seen it—the way his pupils dilated, the way his throat worked.
“Hey, kiddo. Home early? You okay?” His voice was rough, trying to sound cool but failing.
“Migraine,” she lied, strolling closer, her heart pounding so fiercely she swore he could hear it, but swaying her hips to attract her dad’s attention. “They sent me home. It’s easing now. Is Mom out?”
“Yeah, she’s at work today,” he replied, trying to look busy, staring at his screen, avoiding looking at Emma, but clearly being able to make out her silhouette on the side. She was still there. “Gotta finish these reports,” he mumbled to himself.
Emma slid behind his chair, hands dropping onto his shoulders, digging into the knots there. “You’re so tense, Dad. Always working.” She kneaded hard, thumbs pressing deep, her breath hot against his ear. Her tits grazed his back, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide her hard nipples, and he went rigid, his breath catching. She was nervous as hell—her hands shook a little—but the heat between her legs pushed her forward.
Mark said, “Emma, I’m good.” His voice was tight as he tried to shrug her off. “Really. Go ... I dunno, watch TV or something.” He forced a laugh, and his eyes flicked to catch her reflection in the monitor before looking back to his laptop.
Emma saw that and smiled. Got you.
She pouted, lower lip sticking out, and then walked around to face him and straddle his lap, thighs clamping his, shorts riding up so high she felt exposed. “Don’t be like that, Daddy. You’re so stressed,” she teased, hands on his shoulders. “Just wanna make you feel good. Let me help.” She rocked her hips, slow and deliberate, feeling his cock harden under her, pressing against her thigh through his sweats—he’d swapped his slacks for comfort, thank God.
“Emma, get off,” he said, panic in his voice, louder now. “This ain’t funny. I’m your dad.” His hands were involuntarily holding her hips, like he couldn’t decide if he should shove her or pull her in closer.
She leaned in, lips brushing his earlobe, breath warm and teasing, her stomach now only with need. “I’m not playing, Dad. I feel you.” She ground down harder, his cock twitching, rock hard now, straining against his sweats. “Is this for me?” Her voice was all honey and sin, but her hands trembled—she knew this was a line they couldn’t uncross, a fucking disaster waiting. Too late. She was all in.
“Emma, stop,” he snapped, voice cracking, hands gripping her hips. His eyes betrayed him, darting to her tits, her bare stomach, then away, fighting himself. “This isn’t ... We can’t...”
She ground her pussy against his trapped cock in his slacks, almost feeling his twitches. She cupped his face, forcing his chin up to look at her. “Why not?” she whispered.
“Because...” His protest died as she raked her nails down his chest and had her lips so close to his.
And then she dropped the bomb.
“I saw you last night, Daddy,” she whispered, sharp and low. “With Aunt Mandy.”
Mark froze.
Emma smiled, rubbing him through his slacks. “John and I got home early. We saw you fucking Aunt Mandy, your cock deep in her pussy, her screaming your name. Mom sucking Uncle Bob, then kissing Aunt Mandy like they were in love, not just sisters. You get off on that, don’t you? Them being sisters, all tangled up in each other’s filth?”
Mark’s face went pale, eyes wide like she’d punched him and knocked the air out of him. “You ... what? Oh God, Emma ... You weren’t supposed to see that.” His voice was a wreck, his hands shaking. The look on his face—guilt, horror, shame, need—was intoxicating.
“Don’t be ashamed,” she purred, not letting up, rocking her hips, feeling his cock throb. “It was so fucking hot. I got wet watching you. Mom and Aunt Mandy, moaning like sluts—does that get you hard, Daddy? Knowing Mom fucks her own sister?” She wanted to see how much she could push him with the filthy, incestuous talk. But she had to do more than talk. She slid off his lap but didn’t step back. She, instead, hopped onto his desk, shoving his laptop and a coffee mug aside—the mug wobbled a little and nearly spilled. She shut his laptop, smirked, and spread her thighs just enough, her pussy damp through her shorts.
Mark’s eyes were locked on her thighs. He could see her smooth thighs and make out her pussy line. “Emma, please,” he begged, his voice a whisper now. “This is wrong.”
She grabbed his stapler, clicking it, then tossed it. She knew she had him, all nerves gone. “You want your cock somewhere it shouldn’t be, Daddy?” She taunted, voice thick, tugging her top. “My mouth? My pussy? I’m ready for it.”
Mark’s breath hitched, cock straining as she yanked her top off, tits bouncing free, nipples hard and pink. She kicked off her shorts and panties, letting them drop, and sat fully on his desk, bare-assed on his keyboard, scattering more pens. “Look at me,” she said, spreading her thighs wider, her moist pussy right there, glistening. Her heart was racing—this could ruin everything, but damn, she was too horny to care and knew she had her father now.
He was frozen, mouth dry, cock throbbing, eyes eating her up—her curves, her smooth skin, her wet folds. “She’s my daughter,” his brain screamed, but his body didn’t care. Emma grabbed his hands, pulling them to her tits. “Touch me,” she urged, voice shaking with want. He did, thumbs circling her stiffened peaks almost reflexively. “Oh, yes,” he muttered, raw, guilt tearing him apart, but his hands moving anyway.
“Yes, Dad,” Emma gasped, arching into him, her pussy throbbing. She shifted back on his lap as his mouth found a nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking, and stubble scraping her skin. She moaned, hands in his hair, feeling like a goddamn queen—her dad, worshipping her, despite the risk.
Mark’s hands roamed, one gripping her ass, pulling her closer to him, the other kneading her tit. “God, Emma,” he groaned, voice thick with shame and hunger. He loved her—his little girl—but this was a fire he couldn’t put out, her taste, her warmth, consuming him.
She lifted his head to look him in his eyes, smiled at him reassuringly, and kissed him. Soft at first, just a brush of lips—then deeper, her tongue slipping in, tangling with his, a dirty, slow sword dance. For Emma, it was electric—his lips firm, commanding, stubble scratching, making her clit pulse. She felt loved and claimed, and so wrong it was perfect, heart pounding with power and fear. For Mark, it was a storm—”She’s my daughter,” screamed his head again, but her mouth was sweet with lipstick, her tongue pulling him in. He loved her, always had, but this was sick, perfect, and unstoppable.
Emma slid off his lap, sinking to her knees, the chair squeaking as it rolled back. “Daddy needs a real break,” she murmured, yanking his sweats and boxers down, his cock springing free—thick, veined, heavier than John’s, and already leaking precum. “Holy fuck, Dad,” she breathed, fingers wrapping around him, stroking him once, then again. She brought her face close to it and smelled him—different than John. She licked the tip, tasting the salty precum, then took him in her mouth, lips stretching, throat relaxing, her nerves fading under raw need. Gawk gawk, the wet sounds filled the room as she bobbed, humming around him—hmm hmm, the sucking and the noise making him grunt with every stroke.
Mark groaned, hands in her hair, guiding her. “Baby, that’s too good,” he rasped, hips twitching as she sucked, tongue swirling. “My girl,” he mumbled, eyes full of worship and sin.
Emma moaned, one hand between her legs, fingers rubbing her slick and desperate clit. “You taste so good, Dad,” she slurred, mouth full, ‘gawk gawk’ echoing, as she sucked his shaft. She was high on it—her father’s cock, his grunts, ’ahh ahh,’ the power of breaking him, even if it could destroy them. “No, it won’t,” she willed herself.
He tried to pull back, voice ragged. “Emma, I’m gonna—stop, baby.” But she gripped him, eyes pleading, sucking harder, hand cupping his balls, rolling them. Mark cursed, “Fuck, Emma, I’m gonna cum, baby.” His hips bucked as he came, hot cum flooding her mouth in six or seven clean spurts. Emma swallowed greedily, some dribbling down her chin. She pulled off, licking it up, showing him her empty mouth. “All gone, Daddy. It was yummy,” she purred, eyes gleaming.
She stood, pecking his lips, her taste persisting in his mouth. “Anytime you want more, Dad. I’m here.” She looked at him, naked and smiling. She allowed her hands to go from her neck over her breasts and to her pussy to emphasize the word more. She bent down slowly to give Mark a view of her pussy and ass. Grabbing her clothes, she sashayed off, with a little more swing in her hips, looked back once, gave an air kiss, and sauntered out.